Hubris
by Digital Tempest
Summary: You’d call her name from your heart and hope she’d hear it, but pride consumes you. Palex. Spoiler warning.


**Title: **Hubris  
**Author:** Tempest  
**Disclaimer:** If we shadows have offended, think but this and all is mended. That you did but slumber'd here while these visions did appear. And this weak and idle theme is no more yielding then a dream. Gentles, do not reprehend. If you pardon, we will mend _(Shakespeare)._ I don't own any characters recognizable from _Degrassi._ No copyright infringement intended.  
**Spoilers:** High Fidelity Pt. I and Pt. II  
**Author's Notes:** This is written to my daily word prompt that I posted in my forums in an attempt to get my Palex muse back in action. I've never written a fic completely in second person. I hope it turned out okay. For those who've seen the eps, how cool was it to hear Marco actually refer to them as Palex? Also, for some reason, I'm not receiving any alerts from this site, so please, if you want to contact me, just go to my forums or email me directly instead of sending me a PM through the site.

- - -

Pride is a very fickle emotion. One minute, you're fighting with your girlfriend, and the next, she's breaking up with you. "Are you breaking up with me?" you ask her out of desperation, knowing it's a silly question because obviously she is. Then, you're left standing there while your chest tightens painfully and tears sting your eyes like ocean water, but you won't let her see that she's hurt you. Your pride won't allow it.

Then, she's walking off, and you're standing there looking like a lost lamb in search of her Mary. You ache to chase her through the crowded mall, grab her arm, make her face you. You yearn to take it all back, say you'll be whatever she wants you to be, even if it does involve petty theft. But you're pride won't allow you because you beg for no one's affections. "Let her go," your pride chides silently. And like an asshole you listen. Never mind that she makes you feel complete. You have your pride to contend with.

So, you go home and you throw yourself on your bed in classic teenage angst-style, wondering if you should write some sad, self-pitying poem about your lost love. You have a whole journal full of badly written poems that you will never show your friends. Your poems chronicle everything from your very first kiss to the first time you explored another girl's body. You decide that this is a heartbreak not meant to be bastardized in terrible poems. You want to keep this pain to yourself. Your pride demands it.

You call your best friend in an attempt to console yourself. You don't tell her that you've been dumped—_again_—by the one person that was meant to last forever. Instead, you talk about complimentary lipstick colors, Ellie and Jimmy, your web assignment for Mr. Simpson's class, Dylan and Marco. Anything but her, but your mind keeps wandering while you try to remain calm. _Maybe_, you think to yourself, _I should call her_. But your pride won't let you.

For a moment, you entertain the idea of actually telling Hazel—your best friend since you learned what the combined letters _BFF_ meant—but you know she'll never really understand. She doesn't even believe it's real love. She talks about it as if it's something dirty. She says it's like trying to fit a square peg in a round hole. It just doesn't fit. Your pride refuses to believe she's right.

When she asks about Alex, you say that she's fine before changing the subject abruptly. She doesn't even notice the tremble in your voice as you ask her whether you should dye your hair dark brown or not. She chats on happily about nothing of importance while you cry inside. Your pride commends you for holding it together, even if it's only externally.

Loneliness settles in your room like a heavy dust that's recently been stirred. You concentrate on the clock, watching as the minutes turn to hours. You're laying on your bed in some punch-drunk stupor, and you're only vaguely aware that your mother is calling you down for dinner. You can't face your family, not while the burden of defeat rounds your shoulders. You would believe you were a failure at love, if your pride would permit it.

She was your unintended, you decide, the one you would always love because it was unintentional. You didn't have to force this love. It came on it's own when you weren't looking, hitting you head-on like a unexpected collision. And it was ripped away from you just as quickly, leaving a throbbing in your chest that you don't believe will ever subside until you are with her again. You'd call her name from your heart and hope she'd hear it, but pride consumes you.

_**-Fin  
April 26, 2006  
640 words**_


End file.
